


Space Invaders

by Grenegome



Category: Dresden Files - All Media Types, Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alien Invasion, Crack, Gen, Kinkmeme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grenegome/pseuds/Grenegome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Emperor of all the Galaxy was John Marcone, and it wasn’t my fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Invaders

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following Dresden Files Kink Meme prompt: Galactic Emperor Marcone (or something like that). And Harry as the..uhm...empress consort. A sulky empress consort who still can't believe that he got stuck ruling the world when he'd rather set things on fire in his free time.

The Emperor of all the Galaxy was John Marcone, and it wasn’t my fault.

Really. I’m not taking the blame for some betentacled idiots deciding the best place to start an alien invasion of Earth was _Chicago_. Morons. But now they were _dead_ morons, and they didn’t have to deal with his new Galactic Majesty. Some of us didn’t have that privilege.

“No,” I snapped. “Absolutely not. Veto.”

Marcone lent forward in his throne to bring his head closer to my own, frowning his _try and be civil in front of the minions_ frown. It’s not like anyone else in the room could speak English, but old habits died hard, and back home Marcone lived and breathed the necessity of keeping up appearances.

“Harry, do I really have to explain this to you again? 'Prince Consort' is an honorific; you don’t _have_ any power of veto.”

In response, I did an angry little jazz hands throne dance at him, drawing Marcone’s attention to the thorn manacles I’d fastened around my own wrists. “Oh, don’t I? Here I thought I had the power of smashing cold iron through my bracelets and shorting out the life support.” That’s how we’d taken out the Mothership over Chicago; one wave of my hand and a pissed off _hexus_ , and oops, into the lake it fell. But Marcone barely reacted to my threats of death and destruction.

“Of course you do, but there are beings on this vessel you harbour less resentment towards than myself. I’m confident you wouldn’t wish a cold death in a failing ship on them.”

I slumped back in my throne, temporarily defeated. Yeah, it was an empty threat, but Marcone could at least _pretend_ to worry for a moment. “Could be hot,” I muttered. “Could crash us into a star.”

I could see Marcone’s gaze flicker toward our cephalopodic attendants as soon as I abandoned any attempt at sitting in a princely fashion. It’s not like they _knew_ what good posture looked like in a human, but Marcone’s mind didn’t work that way. So I slumped some more, ass barely on the edge of my seat, sprawled as far back as I could manage. Hah.

Marcone tried to compel me to sit up properly with the sheer force of his green eyed glare, and I smiled sweetly at him. “Veto or not, I’m still not helping you. You took over an entire freaking galaxy, you don’t need another one.”

“I didn’t ask for this one, Harry. As I recall, you’re the one who got upset with the old regime.”

Upset was maybe a bit of an understatement. “They were bullies.” Evil bullies that wanted to enslave the Earth and thought it was fun to starve colonised planets.

“Indeed they were. But you can’t demolish a galactic power structure and then walk away; you have a responsibility in the aftermath.”

“None of which sounds like ‘Get Space Married to John Marcone and Conquer the Universe!’” I could see _that_ annoyed him just as soon as it was out of my mouth, a flicker of anger in the narrowing of his eyes; we’d had this conversation more than once.

“I’ll say this once more and then I’m not going to discuss the topic with you again. We. Are. Not. _Married_.”

This time my interpretive dance comeback involved wiggling my fingers in Marcone’s face. “Then why are we wearing rings?”

“They’re marks of rank.”

“Uh huh? Well my rank is marked as your _consort_ , and I’m not that kind of wizard. You can damn well make an honest man out of me if you’re going to be asserting your Emporal rights to my person.”

“ _That’s not a word_ ,” Marcone hissed, apparently at a loss as to what to object to first; several weeks of close quarters, and the same arguments playing on a loop, and maybe I was about to see the frayed edges of his temper. But he disappointed me, taking a sharp breath and addressing my points in reverse order. “We both know I’m not going to, even though you’re _exactly_ that kind of wizard, and you refused the crown; I had no choice- ”

“Except to say, 'Hey! The wizard’s mine and so’s the galaxy' ?”

“Exactly. If we’d left the field without securing the succession there would have been war. With Earth caught in the crossfire.” This far away from home, Marcone said _Earth_. In his head, I knew he meant _Chicago_. Only John Marcone would set himself up as the Emperor of all the Galaxy to keep his city safe.

…Bastard.

He kept having really good reasons for doing things I was pretty sure a Good Guy should object to. Not that I’m all that Good lately. More Well Intentioned, as it were.

Marcone played his ace. He slipped the crown off his head and ran his hands through his hair, an excuse to tilt the golden circlet towards me. “Have you changed your mind then? Do you want it?”

I bared my teeth at him. “No. You know I don’t. I’d lose the peace as soon as I opened my mouth.”

“Then stop sulking and look at this holomap with me. We have borders to establish.”


End file.
